


Message in a Bottle

by dreamerfound



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 12:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13481967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamerfound/pseuds/dreamerfound
Summary: Martin can’t ask Miranda for forgiveness, so he finds another way to deal with his feelings of guilt.





	Message in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> takes place after 2x12 and includes spoilers for that episode.

Martin Riggs hated having the day off. It left him too much time to think. Too much time lost in his own head, which was not a very nice place to be. 

It was afternoon by the time he rolled out of what passed for his bed. His head was pounding, his neck still sore from being strung up under the same tree he married Miranda under. The idea of dying there hadn't been as appealing as he would have thought. He’d fought to get that rope out from around his neck. Not so much for himself but he couldn’t let those fucks get away with murder any longer than they already had. Assholes.

Riggs couldn’t shake this shroud that hung over him ever since learning that Miranda had known he’d lied to her. and He couldn’t ever tell her he was sorry. It was far too late for that. How could he ask for forgiveness? How could he explain to her why he had lied about his father. He wanted to tell her how ashamed he’d been. How he hadn’t wanted her to know where he’d come from; what he was afraid of turning into. He couldn’t bear the thought of her loving him any less, or take the chance that she might stop loving him at all. 

A few swigs of whiskey later, an idea came to him. He’d write Miranda a letter. He couldn’t mail it but he could drop it into the ocean. A message in a bottle kind of thing. Cahill would probably eat that shit up, call it therapy. He’d probably get bonus points for shit like that. There were bonus points in therapy, right?

Riggs looked around his trailer and realized he didn’t have any stationary. He didn’t want to write Miranda a letter on some stained scrap of paper, even if it was going to end up at the bottom of the ocean. She deserved better than that. Did people still use stationary or was it all just emails and text messages these days? It took him several minutes and another glug of whiskey to think of someone who might have stationery on hand. 

Trish opened the door with Harper on one hip and a smile on her face. “Roger isn’t home.”

“Now Trish, I was just stopping by to visit you.” He gave her a smile that even he knew didn’t reach his eyes.

“Well, come on in then.” 

“I was wondering if you had any nice paper, I could borrow.”

“Nice paper? Like stationary?” Harper wriggled and Trish readjusted her hold on the child. The girl was getting big. Another reminder of the passage of time. Riggs’ smile slipped. Trish pretended not to notice.

“Writing a letter, Martin?

“Yes, ma’am.” She didn’t ask him who the letter was for, and he felt grateful for that. 

“I’ll just be a minute.” She handed him Harper and headed up the stairs.

Riggs held the child stiffly. It wasn’t the first time he’d held her, but it was still hard for him. He imagined it would always be. Thoughts of his son flash in his head. He reaches for his flask but then thinks better of it. Even he’s not gonna drink with a kid on his hip. He wasn’t that far gone. It only took Trish a few minutes to find the stationary. She took Harper from him and handed him a large envelope. He looked inside and saw several sheets of paper and a couple of pens. It hadn’t even occurred to him to ask for a pen. Roger was a lucky man. Riggs thanked Trish and headed back to his trailer. 

Two hours and a lot of whiskey later, he had a finished letter. It was a mess, but he was a mess and if Miranda was looking down on him she already knew that. It was two sheets of paper filled with “I’m sorry” and “Please forgive me.” Not only those words of course, but that’s what it all boiled down to. He’d been ashamed to tell her the truth. He hadn’t wanted to lose her. It hadn’t mattered in the end, had it?

He emptied the whiskey he’d been drinking, rolled the letter and stuck it inside the empty bottle. He didn’t have a cork or anything, so ripped a piece off one of his shirts and stuck that in the opening. It would have to do. 

The walk down to the water felt more weighted than usual. Martin looked out at the horizon. It was a great big world out there. But nothing seemed to matter to him anymore. He gave the bottle another look and then chucked it as far as he could. He stood there a bit longer, then turned around and headed back home where he had a full bottle of whiskey waiting to be drunk.


End file.
